


Some relationships have an expiration date.

by emily_420



Category: Gintama
Genre: M/M, bansai in the distance counting his blessings, mild violence, mutsu also in the distance counting her blessings, nsfw stuff alluded to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emily_420/pseuds/emily_420
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even wasted time teaches you something new about yourself. Kamui, Sougo, and stationary motion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some relationships have an expiration date.

Absently twiddling with the steering wheel, Kamui focused on the news coming over the radio. He had to put a bit more attention into it, because most of his experience with Japanese was casual, and newsreaders phrased things differently, had a different pace of speaking. It was late, a while past the time he usually ate dinner, and the combination of hunger, exhaustion and the mental effort of concentrating was making him dozy. He was going to go home, eat whatever he could find, and conk out. That was all he needed.

That and a sense of direction, probably.

How was it that everything looked the same? Hadn't he seen that convenience store just a minute ago? Wasn't that café pretty familiar? The newsreader was still talking, some nonsense about the stock market, and, taking his eyes from the road for a moment, Kamui smacked it off. There was only so much a person could take. Wait, wasn't that his turn? Wait, weren't those flashing lights in the rear-view mirror? Wasn't that a siren?

Well, damn.

Kamui pulled up to the curb, bumping his tires against the gutter; he likely could have taken the 'screech away at full speed' route but he was too burnt out and it was probably only a random breath test, anyway. Cops loved to pull up young guys like him late at night, for good reasons, sure, but it was still an inconvenience. He rolled his window down, bullied the gearshift into park, wrestled the handbrake up. His car was admittedly not the best.

The officer hunched over a bit to peer into the vehicle, wide, blank red eyes taking stock of him. His eyes were the most remarkable part of him; he had plain, light brown hair and looked ordinary, if a bit rumpled, in his uniform. “Hey, buddy, what's up?” the policeman asked, hands jammed in his pockets. “You going somewhere fun? Just bought a whole bunch of porn and can't wait to read it? Let me see it too, man.”

Kamui tossed a look to the assorted mess of his back seat. “I think I've got some in here somewhere... Why did you pull me over?”

He looked disappointed that Kamui had changed the subject, which was interesting, and said, bland, “That was a red light you zoomed through back there.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, ah. So I'm gonna need to take a look at your licence and registration and give you a quick breathalyser and then we can both be on our way.”

“Right,” Kamui said, tried to lean across to get the papers from the glovebox and got stuck, his seatbelt catching and jamming in place. He took it off, stretched across the car, rifled through the paraphernalia he didn't remember putting in there. When he handed the officer his registration, he was looking at Kamui oddly, a look he knew but couldn't quite place.

“Kamui, huh?” he said, eyes flicking up from Kamui's drivers licence. He held out a breathalyser, said, “Just blow into here until I tell you stop, alright?”

Their eyes met, and though Kamui was smiling and the policeman's expression was mild and inoffensive, there was something tense, almost hostile between them. Kamui held his gaze as he pursed his lips around the tube, kept holding it as he blew, something of a challenge in his eyes. The officer's expression turned amused, interested, and he must have gotten distracted because when the device beeped he blinked in surprise, pulled it back with an air of reluctance.

“Well, you're clean, so that's one less ticket,” he said, and Kamui leant back into his seat a bit, smile lifting back into place. The policeman leant over, rested an elbow casually on the window frame, said, almost comically seriously, “So, you said you had porn?”

Kamui tilted his head a bit in question; his face was pretty close, but not uncomfortably so. His breath was minty, despite the late hour. “I'm pretty sure I do, yeah,” Kamui said openly.

He held a hand palm-up, said, “You gonna share? C'mon, man, don't be stingy.”

Considering that, Kamui thought that he didn't know anything about the guy, that he didn't know what he wanted from him, that it could be risky to play along with whatever he wanted. Kamui was a big fan of risky, though, it was what made life interesting, so he said, “Alright,” and twisted in his seat, leant over into the back and started rummaging around. Kamui's car was full of rubbish, mostly, from fast food and snacks and assorted other things, and he sorted through it, tossing the junk to one side. He could swear he felt eyes on him, on his ass in particular, and he pushed down a snicker, lips threatening to twitch into a smile. So, maybe Kamui did know what the guy wanted from him.

“Oh, this is good stuff,” the policeman said as he thumbed through the magazine Kamui handed him. “You can only get this on a subscription.” His eyes flicked to meet Kamui's, a bit wider than before. “I'm impressed, man.”

“So,” Kamui said, smiling, as he leant closer to the officer, “what about my ticket?”

Kamui could feel minty breath tickling his skin, knew the same must go for the policeman, smiled wider, another challenge. The policeman raised his eyebrows, leant forward ever so slightly, said, the air thick between them, “Well, if you gave me your number I might let you off.”

“Might?” Kamui tilted his head, just a little.

The officer grinned. “No promises.”

That phrase could be used to describe the relationship that began there.

+

The first text Kamui got was less that a week after that, about six o'clock at night when he was fresh out of the shower and still had a towel around his neck. He held his phone in one hand, absently drying his hair with the other, and sat down on the edge of his bed, the cool night air biting at his naked torso.

 _What's up,_ the text read, _it's Sougo._ So he had a name. Kamui still didn't really know anything about him, but that didn't matter, not with the kind of relationship they were both after. They'd fool around together for a while, probably, and then be on their separate ways. That was how it went, with Kamui, anyway, and he got the sense that Sougo was the same; someone who didn't commit to people freely. Kamui had, at the most, two people he considered friends, and he was reluctant to respond to his family's nagging attempts to reconnect with him.

 _Not much,_ he texted back, _just had a shower. What about you?_

The reply took a little while, so long that Kamui had wandered back into his bathroom to use the hairdryer. He felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his sweatpants, dug it out, read the message and snickered to himself in the bright fluorescent light, his reflection smiling along with him like an understanding comrade.

 _A shower, huh? That's a nice image._ And then, _I was about to go out for dinner, u wanna come with?_

He really wasn't messing around. Kamui typed, _sure, if you're paying_ , a familiar thrill building in him, the same excitement you get from jumping off a cliff, that freefall that you enjoy even though you fear what might be lurking under the water's surface.

+

It was cold outside, late autumn, and Kamui didn't know where they were headed so he put on a soft long-sleeved shirt and a jacket, stuffed his feet into some sneakers and wondered how far Sou – was it Soda? He was forgetting already – was willing to take take things in one night. Kamui knew he'd be fine with however Sousuke chose to play it, that he'd go along with the game until the rules disadvantaged him. But then, new rules can be added, too. Kamui left his wallet on the counter because he loved to push his luck, shoved his keys in his pocket, flipped through a catalogue at his small dining table in an attempt to pretend he wasn't waiting.

His doorbell rang, and Kamui grinned to himself.

+

They went to an okonomiyaki place a short drive away – his car was leagues cleaner than Kamui's, and it didn't halt and shudder all the time. Sougo teased him about that a little, and Kamui smiled serenely and insisted that his car was fine, even though he knew very well that it wasn't, because admitting that felt like losing. Losing what, Kamui didn't know; he wasn't even sure what the game was, but he figured he'd work it out during dinner. Like Kamui, Sougo was pretty quiet in the way he said things, but it seemed, even during that short time in the car, that he was prone to saying big things as if they were nothing. Kamui liked that, the confidence Sougo had in himself and the surety with which he spoke.

Kamui was looking forward to the rest of the night. It was definitely going to be interesting.

+

“Oi, can you really eat all that?”

“Of course I can,” Kamui said, mildly offended. “Isn't the point of okonomiyaki to put as much on as you can?”

“Who told you that?”

“No one,” Kamui said, prodding it experimentally on the grill between them. “That's just what it seems like to me.”

Sougo hummed in thought, sipped his water. It was relatively low-lit in the restaurant, but only to the point where it wasn't bright; there were a pretty decent number of customers, almost every table was filled, and that created a significant enough amount of background noise that conversation felt private. Sougo said, “I've been wondering, but you're not from here, are you?”

“I'm Chinese, if that's what you mean,” Kamui said, folding open the menu again just for the sake of it.

Sougo was impressed by that, and they talked about it for a while; the differences between traditions and education, food and politics. It was quite easy to talk to Sougo, Kamui found; he had an easy way of replying, listened well, could tell when to drop something or change the subject. They'd just gotten onto the relative benefits of communism when Kamui suggested ordering some sake.

“Nah, I'm good,” Sougo said, leaning back.

Kamui frowned, disappointed. “Come on, why not?”

Sougo shook his head, rubbed his mouth. “I'm not good with it.”

Kamui blinked. “Oh, so you're a lightweight.”

“What, like you're a heavy drinker?”

“I can drink a lot,” Kamui said innocently. “It's not like it's hard.”

“Whatever,” Sougo said, “drink if you want, but I'm not.”

Kamui did drink, and it left him feeling pleasant and warm, had him propping his chin on his hand and watching Sougo with hooded eyes. When the time came to leave, Sougo paid without saying anything, and Kamui felt oddly triumphant. Outside, on the footpath, with headlights passing them in an on-and-off illumination like a searchlight, Sougo asked him, with a hand to his waist, “Do you wanna come back to my place?”

Stepping closer only slightly, Kamui smiled, a taunt. “Already?”

The look Sougo gave him was flat. “For coffee.”

“Right, _coffee_ ,” Kamui snickered, and Sougo shook his head.

“Whatever you reckon, man.”

+

Sougo lived in a nicer neighbourhood than Kamui, and it showed in his place; it was a traditional-style apartment that was well-kept, if a bit plain. With his feet now slippered, Kamui noticed a shrine for a young woman who looked a lot like Sougo, only softer, kinder. He wondered about that idly, and figured that asking would be pushing his luck.

So, naturally, he asked, “Who's that?”

The look Sougo gave him was devoid of any emotion. He said blankly, “Don't go there, dude.”

Kamui accepted that, because he'd expected it, and followed Sougo into the kitchen, where he actually started making coffee.

“Oh,” Kamui said.

“What? Something wrong?”

“You actually _did_ mean coffee...”

“I did say that.”

“Usually when people tell me coffee, they mean – well, not coffee.”

“Well, you'll just have to wait, won't you,” Sougo said, smiling in a sort of uppity way that ground at Kamui. This was a loss on his part, he could tell, and he could concede that but it meant that he needed to score more points soon. Not that he knew how many points it took to win. Not that he knew what he was playing for.

+

“Do you have any cards?” Kamui asked as they sat in Sougo's living room, sipping their coffee and not doing any of the number of things that Kamui wanted to be doing.

“Nah. I have Jenga.”

Kamui gave him an odd look.

“I dunno what you want me to say, man. I have Jenga.”

+

“You have a nice view,” Kamui said, leaning over the edge of Sougo's balcony; he could see a train station, a busy street. Kamui got a back alleyway from his place.

“Thanks,” Sougo said, carefully setting the last Jenga block atop the stack on a small glass table that looked like it never got used. “What are we doing this for again?”

“Fun?” Sougo didn't look impressed by that, so Kamui kept talking. “Well, you're not letting me do anything I want, so we might as well do something like this.”

Sougo hummed, sipped his coffee. “Right... So are we putting any stakes on it?”

Kamui was very conscious of the fact that he didn't have any money on him. He said carefully, “Like what?”

Sougo shrugged. “We could ask each other something every time we take a block out?”

It was pretty juvenile, but they _were_ playing Jenga. “Sure,” Kamui said, and sat down across from him.

The first block went. “Why'd you agree to come tonight?” Sougo asked.

Keeping his expression pleasant, Kamui said, “I like having fun.” Sougo looked almost bored, but Kamui felt that he was carefully picking him apart, analysing everything he said. Fine by him; he was doing that too. Kamui slid a block out, sat it on top of the stack. “Why didn't you fine me?”

Sougo smiled sarcastically. “I like having fun.”

The ensuing back and forth was so forcibly reserved that it might have driven anyone else up the wall, but Kamui enjoyed himself, enjoyed the tension building despite the light, innocuous conversation. A regular old power struggle, one that was less about the actual outcome for him and more about how it was executed. If he won, that would be a bit boring, because he would have overestimated Sougo; if he lost, he'd be a bit annoyed, but it'd mean Sougo was _good_ and _interesting_ and _not boring,_ and it'd be amusing to struggle back. So while losing was more favourable, Kamui wasn't going into it without the mind to win.

So far every question had been boring, pointless, ones that they weren't asking to hear the answer. Until Sougo said, innocently, “Why did you leave China?”

Imitating Sougo's flat expression from earlier, Kamui said, “Don't go there, dude.” Sougo snorted. Kamui wondered how he would feel if it were to be a tie.

+

“Why coffee?”

“Isn't that what you normally do after a good first date?”

“This wasn't a date.”

Sougo smiled, almost as if he were proud. “You're right, it wasn't. Maybe that's why.”

Kamui didn't get much more out of Sougo after that. The game became more about the actual Jenga, Sougo continually putting them on one side and forcing Kamui to counteract him. The stack was tipping precariously, and, deciding he didn't care any more, Kamui sat the next block on the same side that Sougo was dedicating himself too. It tumbled over, wood clattering on glass, anticlimactic yet still putting an end to some of the built up tension. Sougo turned his flat, bored gaze on Kamui, who smiled pleasantly back over the ruins of what they'd built together.

+

“I'll text you again,” Sougo said as he showed Kamui to the door.

Kamui hummed affirmatively, caught Sougo's wrist before he could reach for the doorknob. Their eyes met, cold red on pretentiously warm blue, and Kamui asked, “Is that all?”

“Not if you're lucky,” Sougo said.

“I always have been,” Kamui said, smiled a bit wider, yanked Sougo towards him and pressed their lips together. Arms immediately went around his waist, pulling him in, holding him almost threateningly tight, and Kamui buried his fingers in Sougo's hair; a close embrace, maybe, but a kiss nothing short of violent, hard and angry. Sougo wasn't holding back much, wasn't afraid to bite at Kamui's lips, to assault his mouth as he saw fit. Kamui liked that, though, didn't give into it, gave back just as good as he got, and Sougo held him tighter, a warning that Kamui didn't heed.

Sougo pulled back from Kamui, a hand wrapped in his braid to keep him at bay. “You really like pushing it, don't you?”

“If I didn't would it be as fun?”

“No,” Sougo grinned, “it wouldn't.”

And then he detached from Kamui completely, threw his door open, ushered Kamui out and said, “Let's 'have fun' another time.”

On his doorstep, alone and suddenly engulfed in silence, with only the company of his own breathing, Kamui started laughing inexplicably, loud and genuine enough that he was sure Sougo must have heard him. He was still chuckling when he called for a taxi.

+

“You went on a date with a cop?!” Matako asked, outraged, her hand slipping and getting blue nail polish all over Kamui's finger.

It was the night after the one Kamui had spent with Sougo, a Saturday, and they were spending time together at Matako's place as they usually did, sitting on the couch. Kamui only ever went there on Saturday nights because that was when Mutsu, Matako's girlfriend, was out all night; Mutsu didn't like Kamui, not even a little bit, and ever since she'd started dating Matako Kamui had had to be more careful about his time with her. Mutsu didn't forbid them from spending time together, or anything like that – she was actually pretty understanding about the fact that he was Matako's best friend – but it was really clear that she wasn't happy about it and Matako hated making things awkward.

(They'd met in high school, Kamui and Matako, and after a few months of warring over the same guy, and another few months of cold looks from Matako and breezy silence from Kamui, they'd found mutual interests in food and shopping and talking trash. Ever since, they've been practically inseparable, even if Matako thought that half of Kamui's life was incredibly questionable.)

“Watch what you're doing,” Kamui chided her, giving her a look. “And no, I didn't.”

“You went out for dinner,” she pointed out, absently screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

Kamui shrugged. “Doesn't mean it was a date. It was more like a... an interview.”

Matako was looking at him like he was filthy. “What?” he asked, innocent.

“Who the hell has interviews for bed partners? That's disgusting.”

“How is that any worse than screwing someone I just met?” Kamui peered down at his finger, trying to scrape the half-dry nail polish off his skin with his thumbnail.

“I don't know,” she still had that expression on, like she'd just seen a pile of particularly offensive dirt, “but it is, okay?” As an afterthought, “Because you're formalising something so personal.”

“It's not personal for me,” Kamui said, a bit cold, taking her hand and gingerly feeling if her nail polish was dry. It was, and he took the other bottle close by, pink, and unscrewed it slowly. “You know that.”

“Unfortunately,” Matako sighed.

“Anyway,” Kamui tried to change the mood, because he knew she didn't agree with him on this and it was tiring for both of them, “how's Bansai?”

“Still doesn't want anything to do with you,” Matako said bluntly.

“Damn,” Kamui said lightly, moving on to her other hand. “He's really being stubborn.”

“It's not stubbornness!” Matako retorted, a worn exchange. “He's never going to change his mind! Give up! Please! For everyone's sake!”

“I just want to talk to him,” Kamui said, feigning hurt. “Am I not even allowed that?”

Matako looked exhausted with him. She said flatly, “Every time you talk to him you flirt. Every time. No exceptions. _No,_ you aren't allowed that.”

“That's a shame,” Kamui said, screwing the nail polish cap back on, thinking of Sougo, wondering what sort of game Bansai and himself would play if Bansai would let him. It'd surely be interesting; Bansai himself was an interesting person, something Kamui rarely thought about people. And he was attractive, but that was another thing entirely.

“I'm gonna make a smoothie,” Matako said abruptly, getting up and stalking out of the room.

“Make me one too!” Kamui called.

“No,” came her voice from the kitchen, “you're gross and you don't deserve it!”

She would, though. Kamui sat back and blew idly at his nails.

+

The second time was only a week after the first.

 _What are you doing tonight?_ the text read, and Kamui replied, _you, hopefully._

 _At least you're honest,_ Sougo said, and then, shortly afterward, _come over._

+

Kamui never really thought about why he liked being a booty call, but it was probably because of the feeling of being needed, craved, the sense of belonging to someone without being more than a plaything. It felt powerful, even if other people considered booty calls degrading, and he loved it, lived for it. So he was pretty excited as he got himself ready for Sougo, made sure he smelt nice and everything, put on jeans that made his butt look especially good. A week of unfulfilled sexual fantasies meant that he wasn't about to bring subtlety to the table.

He got in his car; the fuel light was on but Kamui ignored it, knowing that he'd have enough to get him there and back, at least. Turning the radio on, he was pleased to hear that this time, instead of hard-to-follow news, they were playing pop music. Kamui smiled, turned the volume up, and sang along as he drove.

+

“You took your time,” Sougo said flatly when he answered the door, Kamui smiling brightly at him.

“I got lost,” Kamui said, and it wasn't a lie, he really did – he'd only been there once before and he couldn't quite remember where they'd driven, so there had been a few – okay, so, like, seven – wrong turns. Dissatisfied, Sougo stood aside, letting Kamui in; when he heard the door shut, Kamui glanced over his shoulder and was about to ask something when found himself being slammed against the wooden door.

Sougo had a hand to his shoulder, the other pinning his wrist up against the door with no lack of seriousness. His eyes cool, he said breezily, “So it should be something like this, right?”

“Something like it.” Kamui wasn't smiling, assumed he just looked thrilled, but that was fine, he could be transparent once and it wouldn't ruin anything. Sougo leant closer, was a whisper away, Kamui could almost feel him but he couldn't reach; he lifted the hand that Sougo didn't have pinned, grabbed the wrist of the hand on his shoulder, and was about to make his move when Sougo shook off his grip, pinned that hand, too.

“I am a cop, you know,” he said, shifting closer. “Probably shouldn't underestimate me like that.”

“Who said I was?” Kamui leant forward as far as he could, said, his lips brushing Sougo's as he spoke, “Maybe I just like being put in my place. _Officer._ ”

Sougo breathed a laugh, shifted against him. “That's a lie. You wouldn't stay there even if I tried.”

They were both grinning as they came together, all teeth and sarcasm and the need to hurt and be hurt and find some release.

+

Kamui was woken by his phone ringing. Grumpily, he reached over the side of the bed, grabbed at his jeans and pulled it out his back pocket. While he answered, a single “What” without looking at the caller ID, Sougo shifted next to him, pulled Kamui closer with the arm around his middle.

“Kamui!” the voice accosted him, a voice he hadn't heard in three years, a voice he was avoiding. “Why haven't you answered us until now? You know that–”

“I'm hanging up,” Kamui said, the Chinese a bitter memory on his tongue.

“Wait!” Kamui paused, kept the phone by his ear, silent and suspicious. Softer, “Please think about coming home soon. Your sister misses you.”

 _Figures,_ Kamui thought. “And you?”

Umibozu hesitated for a moment, a moment too long. Kamui hung up. _Figures._

“'Morning,” Sougo said after Kamui dumped his phone carelessly on Sougo's otherwise barren nightstand. It took him a second to process that, he was still sleepy and his mind was far away, over the ocean, beside a hospital bed. Mentally shaking himself, he turned over, facing Sougo, who quickly hid his quizzical look. “Alright?” Sougo asked, unconcerned, then, quickly afterward, “Was that Chinese?”

“Of course.”

“Huh.” Sougo lifted the sheets a little, swung a leg over Kamui to straddle his hips, loomed over him. “Was that the gibberish you were saying last night, too?”

“Just because you don't understand it doesn't make it gibberish, you know.”

“All the same.”

“Yeah,” Kamui said, draped his arms around Sougo's neck. “But I don't want to talk about that.”

Sougo grinned. “What a coincidence. Me neither.”

Sougo kissed him, and Kamui thought that he was really hungry, considering that he hadn't had much to eat the night before. Sougo pushed Kamui's legs open, settling between them, and Kamui decided that it could wait. He needed the distraction.

+

Walking down the street, Kamui didn't have a destination or a purpose, but it was windy and gloomy outside and quiet and suffocating in his apartment, so he went out without avenue. The air smelt of rain, of a bitter memory, of a hospital room – but it wasn't raining and the signs were covered in kana and he shook his head and considered stopping in at a café. Instead, he found himself at a family restaurant; shrugging, Kamui sat himself in a booth, skimmed the menu and ended up getting seven different things even though he wasn't very hungry.

Leaning his chin on his hand, Kamui stared out the window, taking in the gloomy sky. The air was cool on his skin, the ambient noise of the restaurant lonely on his ears. He remembered a time when four people would squish into a booth and two kids would chatter about everything they wanted to eat and their dad would tell them to tone it down a bit and their mum would smile, gentle in the chaos–

Abruptly, Kamui got up and strode out of the restaurant, avoiding the probing gaze of people he didn't, would never know, avoiding the sight of the gloomy sky, and ran. Just as he had been.

+

He ended up on some stairs that led to a riverbank, not sure why he was there but there nonetheless. There was rain in the air, but it was yet to fall; he drank it in in lungfuls, sat down on the cold, almost damp concrete and looked down at the water. He took in the river, ever-moving yet stationary, restless but stuck in the same place, and thought that it was a lot like himself–

–and he stood, turned his back, walked away. He didn't want to think about himself. Because thinking about himself led to thinking about his past.

+

Kamui could hear Sougo yelling at someone when he woke up.

It was coming from another room, the bedroom door firmly shut. Feeling an itching for both drama and anything personal about Sougo that might be a bit interesting to tease him with, Kamui sprung out of bed, feet quiet on the floor as he went to the door, picking up Sougo's discarded boxers and wiggling them on on the way, listening carefully. He wouldn't go out yet, because revealing that he was conscious would irreversibly alter the flow of the conversation.

“I asked how you got in!” Sougo was shouting.

“Kondou-san leant me his key.” A lower, calmer voice. Probably one used to Sougo being agitated with them. “Anyway, it doesn't matter, I came here to talk about–”

“I don't care. Go home.”

“Sougo–”

“I told you to go! I don't want to listen to this–”

“ _Sougo_ –”

Kamui threw the door open as conspicuously as possible. If they were just going to blow up at each other, that was no fun at all; by his showing himself, hopefully they'd get embarrassed and pretend to be calm.

“The hell are they?” grunted the person who had just been yelling at Sougo, cigarette hanging from their lips, surprised out of their anger.

“No one,” Sougo said, seeming distracted. Likely understandably, given that Kamui was practically naked.

He smiled in the most flowery way he knew at the dark-haired person. “Don't mind me,” Kamui said, “I'm just gonna get breakfast.”

Kamui went into the kitchen and started getting food like he said he would, but he was trying not to make too much noise so he could still eavesdrop on what they were saying; maybe Sougo picked up on that or maybe he was just careful, because when he spoke next his voice was so low that Kamui could barely make it out.

“...care what you want...just...out. Not a...time.”

 _I don't care what you want, just get out? Not a good time?_ Kamui mused as he tried to quietly tip some cereal into a bowl he fished out of a cupboard. An impossible feat, really, it kept _ping-_ ing and there wasn't much he could do other than silently will it to stop.

As he proceeded to dump tablespoonfuls of sugar on top of his cereal, the stranger spoke again. Their voice was low, too; maybe they were sketchy of Kamui, maybe they were being respectful. Maybe both. Kamui couldn't really tell.

“She wanted you to have it. ...to keep...doesn't feel right.”

Kamui was less sure about that one but it seemed way more serious than he had anticipated. The coffee pot was hot, there was a half-finished cup abandoned on the bench but Kamui didn't touch it, got his own mug and added  heaps of milk and sugar. Sougo was getting louder, more agitated, seemed to be fighting to keep some semblance of calm.

“Don't want...reminder...bastard like you...”

Kamui frowned. This wasn't as fun as he'd hoped. Picking up the coffee pot, he popped back into the other room, where they stood facing each other, Sougo looking furious in a way Kamui had never seen him before, the stranger seeming calm if slightly irritated. “Hey,” Kamui sing-songed, “do either of you want coffee?”

The stranger was holding a ring in their hand, Kamui noticed. Faintly, he thought he spotted a diamond, and without thinking his eyes cut to the portrait of the woman that Sougo refused to identify. The stranger's cigarette almost fell from their lips before they caught themself, hastily stuffed the ring into their pocket and grunted. “Nah, no thanks, I better leave.” Sougo didn't look any more pleased for it, glaring hard at their back as they turned to go. “Oh,” they turned back at the door, “I'll ask Kondou-san to talk to you sometime. God knows he always understood you better than I did. See you later.”

“Bye!” Kamui waved cheerfully, and Sougo made a disparaging noise and stormed off to the bathroom.

Kamui heard the shower running as he ate some cereal he didn't really like and drank coffee that had an odd flavour to it. Feeling vaguely disgusted, he left before Sougo got out of the shower, the boxers in the middle of his bed, a wordless parting note.

+

He had thought, when their relationship had started, that Sougo was the same as him. Needless of meaningful relationships, trying to leave something behind, merely passing time in as enjoyable way as possible. Sougo had someone who understood him, though, and Kamui had what? A best friend he barely told anything? Her girlfriend, who he got a small kick out of antagonising? A hot musician who barely returned his messages? Two family members who infuriated him?

A casual hookup who he enjoyed his time with but ultimately didn't know much about?

What did any of that get him?

+

Isolation. Pent up emotions that were doing something unhealthy to him, that burst out at times, that he had no handle over because he didn't allow himself to understand them.

Longing for closeness? _Surely not,_ Kamui thought, but there was doubt sitting in his stomach and a knowing smirk lingering on the edge of his consciousness.

+

“'Sup?” Sougo said, sliding into the booth across from Kamui, popping his bubblegum.

“Just waiting,” Kamui said, not looking up from the game he was playing on his phone, a smile clinging to his lips out of habit if nothing else. He'd told Sougo to meet him at the same restaurant he'd stormed out of, a reminder of the choice he was making.

“Did you order yet?” Sougo asked, looking over the menu, seeming bored.

“Yep,” Kamui said, still not looking at him, “you can get your own.”

“Cold.” Sougo called over a waitress and though Kamui was paying more attention to his tetris than the man across from him, he could tell Sougo wasn’t paying him attention either. There was a kind of tension between them different from any there had been before; a proverbial tightrope stretched between them, but Kamui didn’t care to reach the other side.

A waitress came over with Kamui’s food and his wildly unhealthy drink, topped with a pile of whipped cream that wobbled ominously. He perked up at the sight of it, and as he happily pushed cream into his mouth Sougo finally turned his lamplike eyes onto him.

“So you’re breaking up with me.”

Kamui licked his lips. “We were never together.”

Sougo shrugged, leant back in his seat. “Just don’t see why.”

Mirroring his shrug, Kamui said, “Things have run their course.”

“What, and now it’s time we _diverge_?” Sougo snorted.

Kamui looked down at his food, said quietly, as if to himself, “Yes.”

+

Thinking about it, Kamui wasn’t sure that either of them had won, or even what he might have gained as a prize. He wondered what he might want to gain.

+

The dial tone played four times before Matako picked up. “What?” She said, breathless as if she ran to pick up.

“Hey,” Kamui said calmly despite what he was about to do, “can you meet me at the riverbank?”

“What?! Right now? What the heck for? You know I wanted to relax tonight and if you’re up to something I swear to God–”

Kamui’s laughter cut her off. “No, I just want to talk.”

“About what?”

“Myself, I guess.”

“You self-centered bastard–” Matako started, and Kamui barely listened to what she said next, pleased with the knowledge that she would be objective about him, his past, where he was going. Pleased that she would understand, no matter what happened. Which was why they were still friends, really.

**Author's Note:**

> i think i spent so long writing this that the point of it changed somewhere along the way...


End file.
